


100 - Journalist Reader

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 03:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “maybe a fic where the reader is like a journalist at a festival and ends up writing about the band and catches van’s eye but is super shy and bad at flirting or something like that?”





	100 - Journalist Reader

You had written twice about Catfish and the Bottlemen in the past. The first was unofficially. You had reviewed their premier album on your blog. When your favourite music magazine offered the chance to go to a gig and write up a piece, you sent them your article on The Balcony. It won you the competition, and you saw Catfish live in London, all expenses paid. That was the second piece, and it was officially published in the magazine. It caught the attention of the editor. Two years ago that happened, and you'd worked hard since to get to the position where you were paid to travel and listen to music. You met bands, reviewed albums, and wrote about live sets performed in dirty bars and under star lit skies. You were living the fucking dream.

When you got handed the assignment to interview Van and Bondy of Catfish before their set at the year's biggest festival, you were stoked. You owed them a lot, literally your entire career, but more than that, you genuinely were in love with their music. You had questions. So. Many. Questions. It would be an easy task. When the shuttle bus dropped you and other journalists backstage, you had a profound sense of calm and purpose. It seemed poetic to be there for Catfish.

You located the sign in desk for media and were directed to where you'd talk to them. There was an entire area dedicated to interviews. NME, Rolling Stone, and a few other big names had their own sections. People milled about them, wanting attention. You watched their interviews from a distance; festival questions that would produce fluff pieces lacking depth. If you really wanted to know a band, you'd have to go on tour with them, or at least spend a couple of days shadowing them around their hometown. You imagined all of that to be like Almost Famous. Very glamorous, but a little bit soul destroying.

Before Van and Bondy were due to speak to you, you had other bands to talk to. It wouldn't be cost effective for the magazine to send you to speak to one band. Little Comets were excited to be important enough for an interview. You fell a little in love with Tkay Maidza from Australia. Three other indie bands came and went and were nothing remarkable. During the second to last interview, you watched Van and Bondy being dropped off in the media pit. They were with another person holding a clipboard who pointed to you. You quickly looked away, back to your current interviewees, before you saw their reaction. You tried to stay focused, but you could feel your mind split and your attention divide. Wherever they were in the space, you knew. A few times you snuck a peek and Van would quickly look away from you. It stressed you out to think he was already forming an impression.

In the few minute between the second to and final interview, you stood and considered getting tea. You stared vacantly at the coffee truck across the grass, then decided against it. You sat back down, drank more water, and tried to not look up at Van. You knew he was leaning against a makeshift fence, smoking with Bondy. Why, all of a sudden, did you have a specific interest in him? You never had before? It was maybe that you could feel him watching you. Maybe. It could have been seeing the way he walked and shook hands with people, so warm and welcoming. It could have been the sound of his laugh; somehow it cut through all the noise of the interviews and music.

Van and Bondy were walked over to you and delivered like a present. You swapped names, and there was a moment where it looked like Van recognised you; or at least, your name. They sat down and your hand kept tingling where they shook it. You started with the important questions, skipping the basics. You didn't want to know how they were, or what it was like to be at the festival. That was easy, obvious. You asked about if it was a conscious decision to make The Ride more stripped back than The Balcony. You wanted to know about the consistent formatting of the albums, and if track six would always be calmer than the others. How did it feel to be playing songs written as a kid? Did Bondy like playing The Ride more because he wrote it? If they were to be on the Trainspotting 2 soundtrack, which of their songs would they nominate? (Van laughed and said that was a good question.) Did they know the difference between an alligator and a crocodile? Since Van was not in love with playing guitar, was a second guitarist ever considered? Will the third album maintain that 'in the box' theme they have, or are they trying something new?

You could feel the time being eaten up by the conversation. Van was quieter than you had expected him to be. He was overwhelmingly polite and took stated facts about the success of his band like they were subjective opinion - thanking you after each one. Bondy filled the space left by Van's… shyness? He wasn't shy. You'd poured over YouTube to make sure you'd not be asking repetitive questions. Maybe he was under the weather.

"Alright. One more question, off the record," you started. Van smiled and nodded. "It's bugged me forever. In Fallout, Mary keeps you up at night,"

"Yeah," Van said, almost like he was expecting the question.

"And your mum is named Mary,"

"Yes,"

"And your dog?"

"Yeah," Van said again. Bondy laughed. You shook your head, waiting. "What's the question?"

"Is Fallout Mary your dog or your mum or neither?"

"You don't want to know why his dog has the same name as his mum?" Bondy asked.

Van explained to you the lyrics, and his dog's life story. Everything made sense. You felt more at peace with the world for knowing. They stood to leave. Van turned around and you almost collided with him.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I just remembered where I know you from. You wrote that review of that huge London show we did a few years back, yeah?" In shock, you tried to think of something to say. You slowly nodded. "Yeah. Thought I knew your name. That was a good review. It made us super pumped to keep going, you know. Thank you, for that,"

"I… You're welcome," you said. He smiled and licked his lips. Glancing over at Bondy and his manager with the clipboard, he thought for a second, then turned back. There was nothing more to say, but you didn't want him to go. "I actually won that trip. Um… the magazine ran a competition to guest write. I sent in a review of an album, won it, and got to go to show, 

"I'm glad you did. What album did you review?"

You breathed out loudly and looked at him with a 'you won't believe me, but' face. "The Balcony?"

"Well, fuck," he said with a chuckle.

"Yeah… So, they weren't planning on giving a job to whoever won, you know, but they liked it,"

"And here you are,"

"Here I am… So… Thanks for that, I guess? I probably owe you,"

He looked at you for a second, a small smile on his lips. "You do. I'll think of a way for you to make it up to me. Since I gave you your career," he was joking, but it didn't make him wrong. He made an 'aww' sound then, and said, "I'm proud of you. I don't know you, but like, this is big, yeah? Interviewing bands here after a couple of years?"

"Yeah. It is. Thanks. It's…" you looked around the space at the other journalists, the bands you'd worshipped your entire life. "I still can't believe it. I'm just a kid from nowhere that just wanted to write about music. It's pretty incredible,"

"I know exactly how you feel," he replied, nodding sincerely.

"I know you do. I know I don't know you either, but I'm proud of you. You're kind of killing it, aren't you?"

He grinned wide and looked around the same way you did, thinking the same as you. He pulled you into a hug and you watched him walk away to his next interview. Bondy leant in and said something to him. Van shrugged and Bondy laughed.

…

When the day was over and your job was done you met up with Daisy. She was there with your magazine too. She was reviewing live sets. "I'm going to catch ya lads from Llandudno, wanna come?"

You stood watching from a balcony over side of stage. Appearing next to you out of thin air was a guy dressed as a unicorn. You smiled at him and he neighed in response. You nodded, and looked back at stage. You heard Daisy laugh. The dancing glitter of the unicorn caught Van's attention during the second song. He smiled wide, laughed, and pointed up at him, giving him the thumbs up. He saw you then, and his smile dropped and his face went gentle. He nodded at you, and you gave him a little wave. He went back to his job, and Daisy bumped her shoulder into yours.

"That's the dream, right? Have Van McCann know you?"

She'd mistaken your unconditional love of their music, and your unyielding support of their careers for a crush on the singer. As a girl, it was something you were used to experiencing, even from other girls. "It's not like that," you told her. She rolled her eyes and kept watching, taking notes in her book. It's. Not. Like. That. If you kept repeating it to yourself, maybe it would become true.

…

One of your feet was on the first step of the shuttle bus back into town. Your second was about to leave the ground when you heard your name. You looked back. Van was jogging over to you. He motioned for you to go to him. You did it automatically, not thinking about the consequences of missing the bus.

"Hey," he said. He'd changed clothes from those he wore during his live set. Catfish performed as the sun was setting, but standing near the bus it was dark. The road was illuminated by fake streetlights set up by the festival. "You're going?" You nodded. "You can't. You owe me," he said. "Come on," he ordered and took your hand in his. You went to protest, or at least ask where you were going. Instead, you let his fingers sit between yours, and you took note of the curls in the hair on the back of his head as he walked in front of you. Someone stopped him, and they spoke to him like they knew him but it was clear they didn't really. Van pulled you under his arm and said to the guy, who was telling Van about some band he was managing these days, that he really had to get you to where you were going. The guy looked at you, studied you up and down. The look made you uncomfortable and sensing that Van pulled you in closer. As you and Van walked away, Van leant in and apologised.

Walking side by side with Van was comfortable, and it was nice to not have to make small talk after doing it all day. You let him lead you between tents, and eventually you came to a small clearing that sat between where two of the makeshift fences joined at an almost right angle and the catering tent. It was secluded and dark. "Wait for it," Van said. He moved away from you and went to one of the fence posts. There was a battery pack with a switch. He flicked it on, and the little space lit up with cheap fairy lights. There was a beach towel for a picnic blanket, and he'd stolen a bunch of food from somewhere.

"What is this?" you laughed, looking at him.

"You owe me,"

"Yeah, I know. But what is this? What am I owing you?"

"A date, yeah? I had to go borrow stuff from people out there," he said and pointed to where the general public were camped. "Walked around with Larry until we could hear my own fucking songs,"

"And they just gave you their lights and towels and food?"

"Not the food. Stole that from there." He pointed to the catering tent. You tried to control your lips so they'd form only a small, sweet smile. No luck. A full grin and your tongue ran along the back of your bottom row of teeth. You looked up at him. He walked to you and put his hands on your shoulders. "Never really been shy, but I get all nervous around you. You're dead cute, and you like the stupid brain-dead rock and roll music I make. Figure we're perfect for each other, yeah?" And there was the confidence you had expected from him all along; given, you expected it to be about Catfish and not you, but either way…

You sat down with him and ate chicken nuggets, bread rolls, and split a banana. You sat cross-legged, and he laid back on the towel. You quizzed each other about music. You both agreed that Foo Fighters were one of the most overrated bands ever to exist. You let him try to convince you that Mike Skinner was one of the best songwriters ever to exist, and you told him about a few bands you'd been tracking. You wondered if someone was going to come looking for him. If he was meant to be anywhere other than with you, he didn't seem to care. Van threw blueberries at you, and you tried to catch them in your mouth. You only caught one, and it was an accident.

"You are awful at this, babe," he laughed.

"Alright, you try."

You threw them at him, and he caught each and every one; even when your aim was way off. He grinned triumphantly. His eyes reflected the fairy lights, and they twinkled all happy and bright. You breathed in hard and looked away before you jumped the gun.

"Y/N?" he said. You looked back at him. The expression on his face made you think maybe he knew what you were thinking, feeling, wanting. "I'm glad you interviewed us today,"

"Yeah. Me too."


End file.
